


Peter Losing Wendy

by anignoranthistorian



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Don't @ Me, F/M, Here is the place where I say folklore is the best Taylor Swift album, I just really wanted to steal Taylor Swift's Peter Pan allusion, One Shot, Set in the early 1910s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25563427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anignoranthistorian/pseuds/anignoranthistorian
Summary: An alternative version of the final episode of the series, re-imagined in the 1910s for the sole purpose of allowing Peter Pan to exist and because I think the loudness of cars in the place where their adulthoods begin is excellent symbolism when compared to the pastoral nature of their childhoods. We all have to have interests, ok?Gilbert and Anne have both resigned themselves to an adulthood devoid of the one constant they had always quietly expected: the other.Inspired by "Cardigan" by Taylor Swift
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	Peter Losing Wendy

He knew how the journey would begin: a train to Charlottetown, and then another to the port. From there he would board the ferry to Halifax…

And that would be it. That would be the last place he would step foot for at least many months that was in any way tied to Anne. The thought made Gilbert morose. It had been his custom, these past few weeks, to push himself towards melancholia, dipping a toe in at the thought that he would never  _ quite  _ be happy, at the memory of Anne, unbothered, at the ruins as her silence told him to go whichever way he pleased, at the prospect of many long, lonely years that stretched out before him.

He would then be pulled away by the reality of an undone chore or the cry of his niece, never allowed beyond the edge of true sadness. 

He had let Winifred go. He had let the Sorbonne go. He told himself that he was honorable to make that vow to himself, and to the girl who possessed his heart, that there would be no one else. He would not settle. He would let that neverending childhood in Avonlea, filled with red apples and red soil and red hair, burn into oblivion. 

_ Goodbye, boy,  _ he thought to himself the first crisp morning in September.  _ Goodbye, Anne.  _

And, seemingly overnight, Prince Edward Island had abandoned some of the pastoral elements he recognized from his childhood. As he stepped off his first train of the day, he heard the loud horn of an automobile holler itself hoarse. He blinked at this brave new world and then hauled his trunk off to the next platform.

She had said her goodbyes to girlhood the day before. She was fascinated by how, now and until the day she died, her skirts were to be long and her hair was to be up, and how, yesterday, her skirt was short and her hair was in braids. 

She noted, briefly, that it was a forlorn thing to leave behind Avonlea. She sometimes wondered how it could ever possibly be asked of her? Expected of her? To leave behind the only good part of her life after just a taste? 

And like this? Alone in the way that counted?

As August turned into September, it had begun to occur to her that she had secretly held unfounded, unfulfilled expectations for her adult life. 

For all of the arguing, all of the teasing, all of the pain that they’d seen the other wrestle with, she had always quietly figured that they would walk into adulthood the same way they walked home from church on Sundays: side by side. Together. 

She assumed she would turn towards adulthood with Gilbert in tow in much the same way she assumed she would go forward with all ten fingers and all ten toes. 

Yes, she saw it so clearly now that he was gone. 

She told as much to Diana, who scoffed at the young man’s arrogance, at his daring to leave without a reply to Anne’s love letter, at his willingness to marry the beautiful blonde woman he’d toted on his arm weeks before. At this, Anne shook her head, unsure where his apathy fit in to the lost expectations she’d held for her life. She was just getting used to the idea that he was gone from her.

And so every step she took through Charlottetown, the click-clack of her heels on the city’s pavement, felt like mindless pacing as he pulled further and further away from her.

As automobiles passed her on all sides, Anne caught a glance into the city square. Actors on a low stage, a children’s play, and someone somewhere between a boy and a man begging the audience to believe in fairies. 

As a child in the orphanage, she had at once fallen in love with the story of motherless children who live in a fantasy land. But now, as a woman, she walked on. 

And there were the gates that stood outside one of the largest homes in Charlottetown, and there was a lovely young woman in her travelling suit, elegant hands gloved in white leather, the sapphire Anne knew she wore hidden beneath. 

Anne calls out. The beautiful woman responds. It isn’t more than a brief exchange, but suddenly there’s been a mistake. 

He’s not lost to her.

Anne runs for the station, crossing the busy road with little care. The automobiles which had previously sped by her honk angrily and brake with little notice as this wisp of a woman, who was yesterday a girl, races past and into the train station.

She wastes no time. She expects he will be headed to Halifax: she can cut him off there. She taps her foot impatiently in the ticket line, watching the train at the nearest platform anxiously. She wills time to slow, but it doesn’t. 

The crowd is thick for several minutes as passengers board, and still she is no closer to claiming her ticket. 

She hears the boom of the train whistle and takes in all the signs of its impending departure. The final stragglers are boarding. Large, heavy trunks are hauled aboard. Young men and old widows follow closely behind.

And there she sees him, in his gray wool suit, fifty feet away from her but never to be closer. Gilbert’s eyes are locked on hers as the train pulls away from the station and as the conductor attempts to usher him to his seat.

He is gone from her, she sees that now. 

She feels her throat tighten, and indulges in a moment of panic before working to calm herself. In moments of fear she’s always had a knack for remembering the small comforts of childhood.

There’s the stick of licorice she’d come upon on her 8th birthday, and there’s  _ Jane Eyre _ , and “Tirra Lirra by the river cried bold Sir Lancelot.”

And there’s  _ Peter Pan _ . And what was it Peter promised, in that moment when Peter lost Wendy? That he’d come back each Spring. 

_ He’ll come back to me _ , she said with each breath in.  _ You’ll come back to me,  _ she said with every breath out. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> I hope you liked this short one shot. What are people's thoughts on historical AUs for this fandom? Maybe setting a story in the 1920s or 1950s? Or earlier in the 19th century? I think there are really cool things that could be done, but I don't really see it as a -thing- on here.
> 
> Does anyone have any thoughts on folklore? I'm really loving mirrorball and seven, but I thought that there was something really subtly heartbreaking about the line "Peter losing Wendy" from Cardigan, so I ran with it.
> 
> Hope you're well!
> 
> -S


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